


all I ever was

by hexmionegranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Femslash, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Background Slash, Break Up, Everyone is an idiot, F/M, Fights, Pansy is also kind of an idiot, Romance, Ron especially is an idiot, and then suffer, background Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger - Freeform, background Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Freeform, background Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood - Freeform, two dumb idiots fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexmionegranger/pseuds/hexmionegranger
Summary: “This,” Pansy gestured down to herself, the fire in her eyes still blazing even though her voice sounded wrong. “This is all I ever was. And if you didn’t realize that,” Pansy shut her eyes, lifted a hand to rub at them, and turned away.Ron barely heard the end of the sentence.“Then you’re a bigger fool than I ever was.”





	all I ever was

**Author's Note:**

> _but this is all I ever was_   
>  _and this is all you came across those years ago_   
>  _now you go too far_   
>  _don't tell me that I've changed because that's not the truth_   
>  _and now I'm losing you_
> 
> \- ditmas; mumford & sons

“I can’t keep doing this.”

The words seemed to seep from Ron’s lips before he had a chance to _think_ about them, consider their weight and impact. Maybe if he’d stopped for a second, thought before he spoke, maybe he would have realized.

It wouldn’t go well.

“What?” The word was muffled, lips dragging over the bare skin of his chest. They were lying in Ron’s bed, and he was half propped up on the headboard. The girl beside him was almost snuggled into him – though he knew she would maintain that she didn’t _snuggle_. Her black hair was splayed out and hid most of her face from him, though he could tell that her cheeks were still flushed from their previous activities. Her legs were tangled through his and his sheets were tangled around them both.

It was too late to go back. Ron inhaled, shut his eyes, and powered through. _Courage_ , he told himself.

“Pansy,” he breathed, resisting the urge to lift a hand to rub at his eyes. She had told him once, that it was his _tell_. Something to work on, if he ever wanted to be taken seriously. “What are we doing?”

Ron could feel the way her body tensed against his, even though he couldn’t see her face contort itself into her mask of _calm indifference_ , but he could feel the change in the way her skin pulled back from his, just enough. Fuck.

“Well, _Ronald,_  we just finished having sex. And before that, we had dinner. So, I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell _me_ what we’re doing?”

Her voice was saccharine sweet, lilting in a way that rolled his stomach. Ron had learned to read her – though it had taken months of slowly chipping away, watching, fucking up, and trying to fix it. This was _bad_.

“Pansy, I just,” Ron sighed, tried to condense all of his feelings into enough words to make a sentence – _I think I love you; I don’t think you love me; I think we’re going to crash; I don’t want to let go of you; I think you’re going to hurt me_ – “I don’t think I can just do the… the casual sex thing.”

“Casual sex.” Pansy’s voice had gone flat and she laughed in a way that sounded almost cruel, and she was starting to pull away from him, sitting up. Ron reached towards her but she moved out of his grasp. “Right. Casual sex. I don’t think I can do the _casual sex thing_ either.”

Ron winced at the tone and finally broke, lifting a hand to rub at his eyelids, wondering why he had started this. Wondering if he had meant to pick a fight.

“I just mean. You don’t want to meet my family. You don’t like my friends. We don’t… we don’t _do_ much, you know, other than sex. And I… Pansy, sometimes I don’t even know if you _like_ me.”

Pansy was off the bed before he was finished, pulling her shirt on. Her entire body looked stiff – usually she had a fluid feline grace that intimidated him, but now she seemed to be acting almost without thinking. She hadn’t said anything and Ron pulled himself up, a little closer to her.

“Pans, don’t… don’t leave,” he murmured, reaching again for her.

“You want me to be someone I’m not,” she finally said, rounding on him, fire in her eyes despite the solid set of her jaw. She had an unusual beauty about her. Ron had never thought of her as _attractive_ , per se. She certainly didn’t have Hermione’s smooth features, Lavender’s soft lips, Hannah’s classic beauty. Her features might not have even worked together, and yet it was like Pansy had looked in a mirror and decided that she was beautiful despite what anyone else thought, and she projected it so fully that Ron somehow couldn’t see her any other way. Not now. Not after everything.

“That’s not what I said,” Ron protested, crossing his arms, ready to finally rise to the challenge of her fight. He’d had lots of practice, years arguing with Hermione. Fighting with Pansy was different – fierce and dirty and sharp and often left them both fuming. He hated that he had started to crave it, started to enjoy the soft touches afterwards, the way they apologized without words and instead with light kisses and a gentle touch.

“It _is_ ,” Pansy snapped, and if Ron had paid even just an inch more attention he might have noticed that her hand was shaking, that she was digging her fingernails into her palm in an attempt to steady herself. That she wasn’t fighting back _anger_ , but _tears_.

Pansy hadn’t cried in front of him in the entire year they had been doing… whatever it was that they were doing.

She didn’t plan to start now.

“You want… you want me to become some stupid fucking… _Stepford wife_ , cooking and cleaning and popping out a dozen babies and, and…” Pansy took a deep shuddering breath and spun away from him, headed towards the front door.

By the time Ron had stumbled into a pair of boxers and caught up with her, she had her first ridiculously strappy sandal almost fully done up.

“That’s not what I said!” Ron pushed, finally reaching out and catching her wrist while she was distracted with the heel. “I don’t… that’s not what I want, Pansy. I just want _you_.”

“Me?” She scoffed, yanking her hand away from his. “Me?” She reiterated, reaching up and pushing his chest, shoving him against the wall in the hallway. “Pansy Parkinson. Class A bitch. Selfish and foolish and _careless_ , the pug-faced Slytherin who _hated_ you and tried to hand your best friend over to the Dark Lord. Don’t pretend you’re in this for _me,_ Ronald. All this is, all this ever was for you was an easy shag, a way to get your frustrations out and play around with your kinks until your perfect little Granger was ready to take you back-”

“Hermione is _engaged_!” Ron protested, not even sure where to start in her statement. He was already having a hard enough time ignoring the way she had him crowded into the wall, the way her tiny frame took up so much space in his narrow hallway. “Pansy,” he pushed, lowering his voice, trying to get her to _understand_ and not having the words for it. “That’s not… you know that’s not true. You’ve changed-”

It was the wrong thing to say. Pansy was at the door before he had the chance to react, her second shoe in her hand. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was still tousled from when he’d pressed her into the mattress. Her eyeliner was smudged and her lipstick was nearly non-existent, and she was only wearing one shoe. She looked terrifying.

“ _This_ ,” Pansy gestured down to herself, the fire in her eyes still blazing even though her voice sounded off. “This is all I ever was. And if you didn’t realize that,” Pansy shut her eyes, lifted a hand to rub at them, and turned away.

Ron barely heard the end of the sentence.

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I ever was.”

And then, she was gone.

And Ron had the terrible sinking realization that this time, it might be for good.

* * *

Everything about how they had met was a blur.

At least, how they met _again_.

Ron remembered the first time they met clear as day. Pansy pointing out a smudge of food on his robes, laughing about his family and their lack of money to even buy _soap_.

He remembered the other times, as well. Pansy clinging to Draco’s arm. Pansy in a frilly pink dress. Pansy whispering with Daphne Greengrass during potions, looking at the Gryffindors and laughing in that way that made it _clear_ what she thought of them.

Ron remembered _hating_ her. Hating them _all_ , for being cowards, for being weak. For being Death Eaters. His hatred and Harry’s fed off each other, building and growing. Hermione didn’t like them, but Hermione had always had a more level head than he had – as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

 _Indoctrinated_ , was the word she used. Ron had laughed at _her_ for being a walking thesaurus, a book worm and a teacher’s pet. Brushed off the fact that they gave as bad as they got and more. That he had come from a loving family, and that changed things. Figured that if Pansy had money, she must have everything else too.

He had been so young.

They had all been so young.

Their second meeting was better. It wasn’t a fresh start, exactly, but they had all come out of the war different. Pansy, too scared to stay and fight, too worried about facing her father behind one of the masks. Pansy, who wanted to give up Harry to save them all – or at least, to save the ones that mattered to her.

Ron, who fought to kill, who wanted to save the ones who mattered to him. Who cared more about Harry than anyone, and hadn’t saved one of the people that mattered the most.

Harry, who wanted to save everyone. Who lost so many. Who gave himself up anyways.

Maybe the first meeting would have been better if he’d been as drunk as he was the second time. Probably not.

“What’s _she_ doing here?” Ron had slurred, turning his head towards the door when it opened to reveal a black haired girl who looked _too familiar_. At the time, he thought she looked intimidating – high heels, big purse, hair covering part of her face and deep red lipstick nearly obscuring the rest. Looking back, now that he _knew_ , he saw instead the way she carried herself _too_ straight, her shoulders locked, her heels to hide the fact that she was actually kind of _short_ , the lipstick to draw attention away from the face she had fought with for years.

It was an odd party to begin with. Ron had come under the impression it was just going to be members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Oliver had just gotten a new flat and wanted them over to celebrate. George, Lee, and Angelina were in one corner, huddled too close, their voices too low. Ron pretended not to hear them, blocked out the name of his dead brother that occasionally slipped from their circle.

Harry and Ginny were with Alicia and Katie, laughing too loudly about the currently league standings. Harpies were near the top, and the Bats were _not_ , but their humour was in good taste, despite the fact that Katie was clearly a little sour about her team’s lack of progress.

Oliver had left the room for a moment and when he returned, he cleared his throat. The team spun towards him, all unable to fully shake the notion that Oliver was their _captain_ , despite the fact that neither Lee, Ginny, or Ron had ever been his players.

“Right, so,” Oliver shifted a little from one foot to the other, part of his confident façade cracking slightly underneath all of their stares. “I have, erm, pretty big news to share, I s’pose.”

Ron glanced over to Harry, raised a brow – a _do you know what’s happening_ gesture, that Harry returned with a shake of his head.

Oliver was clearly steeling himself, and then he reached around the corner and tugged and pulled out-

“Is that _Flint_?” George called from the back of the room, and Ron nearly choked on his beer.

Not only was Marcus Flint in Oliver’s living room, but they were _holding hands_.

“This is… Marcus. My fiancé.”

All hell broke loose.

It was in the midst of this hell, of George slapping Oliver on the back and Angelina giving Marcus a very stern talking to and Harry trying to explain to Ginny how awful Flint had been, that Pansy arrived.

Not just Pansy, but Draco Malfoy and a bunch of others that Ron vaguely recognized from the Slytherin quidditch team.

And he’d spoken before he thought, questioned her presence, and Marcus spun on him.

“She’s my _cousin_ ,” he said in nearly a growl, and Oliver managed to reach out to stop him. “You got a problem with her, Weasley?”

Ron was halfway out of his chair when Harry grabbed his arm and tugged him back down. Everyone in the room was watching, waiting for Marcus to throw Ron out, for Ron to call Pansy out. Instead, Ron took a breath, shook his head.

“No problem.”

And the party continued.

He pretended to ignore the shock that flitted across her face, and the number of shots she took at the party. He _tried_ to ignore the thought of her sharp eyes and sharp jaw and flash of red lips.

It worked. For a while.

* * *

Their first date was a train wreck.

Oliver had set them up without telling Ron who he was meeting.

Marcus had clearly not told Pansy, either.

Ron arrived second, and was halfway to the table when he realized who was waiting for him. He almost left – he _should have_ left – but there was a small vindictive part of him that wanted to see her squirm, wanted to call her on all her bullshit and watch her wilt.

Except. Except he had thrown it all in her face – the awful way she had treated them, her terrible views about blood status, the fact that she had been a bully and a bitch and a nightmare.

Pansy shrugged, tossed back the rest of her drink, and said “I’m aware.”

 _Aware_.

“Are you aware,” she had continued, plucking an olive from the bottom of her empty glass and sucking it out of her fingers in one smooth motion, “that you and your friends weren’t much better? That I was taught everything I knew from my father, learned from the best of them all, just like you did?”

“Our fathers are _nothing alike_!” Ron had snapped, and was almost out of his seat when she shrugged.

“No,” she said, voice slow and careful, a snake waiting to strike, “I suppose not. Mine was wrong. But, everyone always ends up being wrong at something. Mine was just… wrong about something that mattered.”

Ron hadn’t been sure if her comment was an insult. Should have left. If you pick up the snake in the grass, whose fault is it when you’re bitten?

That night, when he fucked her up against the wall outside her flat, he told himself it was only because it had been so long. Only because she was there. Only because of the alcohol.

Only because she wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting.

* * *

Their second date wasn’t really a _date_ , as much as it was Pansy arriving at his flat in black robes and nothing else with a bottle of champagne and a _look_ on her face.

Pansy had claimed she was pretty sure he had been terrible, the last time, except she was also rather drunk. And she wanted to make sure.

Ron hadn’t been doing anything else that night.

They barely touched the champagne.

Pansy made sure four times, and then she left when Ron asked if she was thinking straight now and if he had been much better than she remembered.

The owl the next morning said “average, at the very most.”

Ron had a faint feeling that she might be playing with him.

Had a faint feeling that he was careening towards disaster and should change his course.

He didn’t.

* * *

It took eight months for Pansy to finally admit that they had chemistry, at least between the sheets.

By month two, she was sleeping over at his flat sometimes – though he never slept at hers.

In the middle of month four, a toothbrush appeared next to his in the bathroom. Neither of them mentioned it.

Ron updated the charms that protected his apartment in the middle of month five, and sometimes Pansy was there when he came home from work.

At six months, an armful of clothes appeared in his closet and all of his towels mysteriously disappeared, replaced with huge soft white fluffy _things_ that Ron liked too much to mention.

During the eighth month, Pansy had sighed against his chest, and murmured “we’re good at this, Weasley. Who ever could have guessed?”

Ron hadn’t managed an answer before she fell asleep, but he traced his fingers over the skin of her back and thought, shockingly, that she might be right.

Pansy fit herself into his life in tiny pieces, filling in cracks he hadn’t realized he had, smoothing over his edges and letting him smooth over hers until they slid together like they had been meant to be.

Ron didn’t realize, until she was gone.

* * *

It took three glasses of firewhiskey for Ron to calm down after the fight, and when he eventually managed to fall asleep, it wasn’t pleasant. The bed felt empty, too large and too cold without Pansy’s bony elbows to run into, without her hair ending up in his mouth. Without the promise of another warm body, the reminder that he had _something_.

Had her.

The next morning, when he dragged himself out of bed, he was struck immediately by the sense of _wrong_. There was an empty wall in his room, and he tried to remember what had been there. A painting; foggy mountains and pine trees – where had it come from? Where did it go?

When he went into the bathroom, his toothbrush was alone in the cup. Halfway through brushing his teeth, he realized.

Alone.

“No,” he said to himself as he spat. “No,” he confirmed, trying to push the desperation down out of his throat and out of his voice, glaring at in himself in the mirror as he did so.

But he had to check.

The closet was nearly empty. Half a dozen threadbare auror’s robes, two black ones, and an endless stretch of space he never noticed before.

Her shoes were gone from the door; another wall was empty. When had she hung up so many pictures? The curtains were gone and light streamed into the room, nearly blinding him. Ron made his way through the whole apartment, reeling at everything he realized she’d taken.

Everything he realized she’d _given_.

Everything that had been _theirs_ , and the realization of what it meant that all of it was gone.

* * *

“I didn’t realize you liked her _this_ much,” Harry admitted, two weeks later when Ron finally resurfaced and appeared at his house, demanding a trip down to the Leaky.

Ron shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “I don’t know if _like_ was the right word for it,” he muttered.

Harry frowned.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked between the two of them. “Ron. The two of you have been dating for, what, nearly a year now? She _lived with you_.”

“What?” Ron asked, frowning, wondering how much he’d had to drink. “No, she just slept over sometimes.”

Hermione looked over at Harry, prompting. _Do something_ , said the look in her eyes. Harry faltered.

“Were you in love? I mean, both of you?”

Hermione groaned and Ron swallowed back the rest of his ale. “No, obviously not. It was just… we were just shagging,” he hedged.

“And living together,” Hermione mumbled.

Ron shot Hermione his best withering glare. His best Pansy imitation. It fell short. “Hermione, why are you defending her? You hate Pansy. She hated both of you, she hated all my friends.”

Harry frowned at this. “I dunno, mate. She’s been coming out for drinks every week with us for months. You had us all over for dinner two weeks ago.”

The air at the table grew thick as Ron glared down at the table, turning his glass around in his hands.

Hermione sighed, looked at Harry, and then shrugged. “She’s been over at our place a lot the last week. Draco,” Ron huffed at her casual use of his name, “let her crash on the sofa.”

“What?” Ron asked, looking up at her. “Why didn’t she just go back to her own flat?”

Neither of his friends spoke, and Ron sighed irritably.

“This is shite. All I wanted was for her to, I don’t know, actually be my bloody girlfriend.”

“She threw you a birthday party,” Harry cut in, and Ron threw his hands in the air.

“Did everyone know about this and nobody decided to tell me?”

Hermione frowned. “Know about what, Ron?”

“That Pansy and I were a _couple_! Do… do you think _she_ knew?”

Harry dropped his head down onto the table and Ron, sensing the way the air at the table had shifted, dropped his head into his hands.

“I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I?” he asked.

Hermione sighed and reached a hand out, patted his arm consolingly. “She’ll come around.”

Ron, who had spent the past year trying to understand the strange woman who stormed into his life in a flurry of biting remarks and good sex and a whole litany of glances and gestures and _movement_ , wasn’t so sure.

* * *

Ron spent another two weeks trying to ignore the situation. Every morning he brushed his teeth and tried to ignore the fact that his bathroom felt empty without her toothbrush. Showered, and tried to pretend he didn’t prefer her fluffy white towels to the scratchy ones he had buried at the bottom of the closet. Opened the fridge, and remembered ( _again_ ) that he still hadn’t bought milk.

And he ran through it over and over in his head. When had they fallen into such a routine? When had she moved in, really? Had they really been a couple, and he just didn’t know? Was he _that_ daft?

The thing was, of course, that no one could be _that_ daft. Because he hadn’t been _all_ wrong, when he said that it just felt like casual sex. Despite the fact that Pansy went out with his friends for drinks, she didn’t make a huge effort to speak to them. He’d never once been able to convince her to go to dinner at the Burrow, and a month or two in she had told him very specifically that he better not tell his mother he was seeing someone because she had no plans of marrying him in his backyard and throwing away her heels for an apron.

Really, even after months of them being together, she was still kind of a bitch.

Except.

Except he didn’t really _care_.

Because having someone who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to tell him when he fucked up and how to fix it, who complained when things were wrong but didn’t ever force him to be different either… it was refreshing.

Maybe that was what was still throwing him off so much now. She hadn’t told him that he did something wrong, hadn’t told him what to do to fix it. She had just decided that this time he had crossed a line and left.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Ron managed to track Hermione down one morning and ask how she was doing. Hermione had hemmed and hedged and finally sighed and admitted the truth.

Pansy had found another flat. She had taken all of Draco’s best gin and disappeared one night and neither of them had heard from her since.

Ron didn’t cry, much.

Alone in bed that night, wrapped around a pillow that still smelled faintly floral – a delicate sense that didn’t match Pansy’s hardened exterior but was so intrinsically _hers_ \- he couldn’t stop himself. He cried until he fell asleep, and when he woke up he decided he had to move on.

He had no other choice.

* * *

Ron hadn’t been to family dinner in more than a month, so when he showed up on the doorstep the surprise on Arthur’s face was understandable, if upsetting.

His mother had cried and pulled him into a hug, then smacked him over the head for not answering her owls and for _making her worry_. Then she remarked that he had definitely lost weight and tugged him in towards the table.

George and Lee and Angelina were there, chairs slightly closer than everyone else’s despite the table not being full. Ginny and Harry were across from them; Harry was tossing peas at Ginny’s head and she was catching them in her mouth to the triumphant cheers of the table.

Ron dropped into the chair beside Ginny and managed a smile for his family. _This_ , he told himself, as the meal barrelled forwards, was what he needed. Pansy didn’t want this, didn’t want a big family – _his_ big family. And even though there were peas all over the table, and Arthur was trying to explain to Angelina that there were these magnet machines that could see inside of people, and Molly kept piling more potatoes on his plate, _this_ was what mattered the most.

An hour into the meal, someone knocked on the door. Ron turned to Harry and frowned, raised an eyebrow – _is Hermione coming?_ Harry shook his head no in response. Arthur had gone for the door, and the meal fell back into pace.

Just when Molly was about to get up and see who was outside, Arthur returned to the room looking somewhat confused.

“Ron,” he said, and the table fell silent as the room glanced up to see who had been at the door. “You didn’t tell us that your girlfriend was joining us?”

Ron choked on his mouthful of water and began to cough, and Harry leaned over and nonchalantly patted at his back.

“And, I could be mistaken, but I don’t believe you told us that you _had_ a girlfriend?”

Out from behind Arthur came Pansy. She was in a pretty sundress – too nice for a Weasley family meal where food was likely to hit anyone at any moment – and she was holding a _very_ expensive looking bottle of wine.

“Mr. Weasley, again, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she demurred, blinking her large eyes at him as she stepped into the room. “Mrs. Weasley, Ron has told me all about what a brilliant chef you were, I hope that my wine goes well with the meal, which smells delicious.”

Pansy was laying it on particularly thick, and when Ron stopped choking he managed to narrow his eyes at her. Molly was beside herself, stuck at the end of the table staring at the woman in the doorway, her cheeks flushed with pride but her eyes dark with suspicion.

“Ron,” Molly finally said, and Ron dragged his eyes away from the girl he hadn’t seen in _too long_ , and realized that Molly was nearly glaring at him. “Why don’t you come help me get another plate for our guest, and some wine glasses for the table?”

Ron followed her in without argument.

“Ronald. Did you not think to _mention_ that you had a girlfriend? Or that she’d be _joining_ us? You didn’t think to tell your _own mother_ -”

“Mum-” Ron tried to interject, but Molly wasn’t easily deterred.

“How long have you been together? Are you _living_ together? Is she the one? I really thought you were going to marry that lovely Hannah girl; it’s been so long since you’ve-”

“Mum!” Ron half-shouted, and finally Molly stopped. “It’s… it’s a long story, right? Can we just go back out there? I’ll explain it all later.”

Molly huffed out a sigh and shoved a plate into Ron’s hand, then headed back into the dining room.

When Ron returned, he found that someone had pulled up a chair for Pansy and she was sitting next to where he had been, across the table from Lee. The entire room had calmed down just a little, but Pansy had a smile on her face that Ron wasn’t particularly comfortable with and was making small talk with Lee and Harry.

It was… unnerving. Unsettling.

 _Nice_.

Most of the meal passed without incident. Pansy settled in and even survived an entire conversation with Arthur about the intricacies of muggle public transportation. They drank the wine that she brought – no one stopped to comment on its vintage or ‘delicate floral notes’ and Pansy barely reacted to the fact that George and Angelina seemed to be on a mission to drink it as quickly as possible.

Ron wasn’t sure whether to be suspicious or worried. Truthfully, he was a little bit of both.

And more than that, because he was rapidly realizing that he was in trouble. Pansy was putting on a mask, that much was clear in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her lips, but it was a _good_ mask. It wasn’t a deceptive one, not in a malicious way. In fact, he was pretty sure this was the closest she could get to ‘perfect girlfriend’ – even Molly was charmed as Pansy complimented parts of the food that Ron hadn’t even noticed. Harry seemed to be enjoying himself, but Ginny had a devious flash in the corner of her eyes that was worrying him.

Watching Pansy interact with his family was tightening his stomach uncomfortably, reminding him of his empty bed and empty apartment and the thought that had hit him before she left – the thought that he might _love her_ and she might not _love him_ back, that he might lose her, that he _did_ lose her – was suddenly slamming into his brain.

It was too much.

“Well,” he said, sliding his chair back and trying to ignore the way it scraped across the wood. The conversations across the table died and heads spun towards him. “It was, erm, really great to have dinner with everyone but… I need to head back to my flat, actually. I have to be at work pretty early in the morning and-”

Ron had made it out of his chair but before he reached the door Pansy was out of her seat as well, and standing in front of him.

The room was quieter than Ron had ever heard it, and he cleared his throat. He felt stuck now, not sure what was happening, why she had turned up here and was pretending they were fine when he was going home to an empty apartment and she was going home to a bottle of gin. It was starting to feel infuriating, and he didn’t want to get into it in front of his parents, but she was standing between him and the door.

“Pansy,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice quiet and failing.

“Ronald,” she returned, and he sighed, and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes.

“What are you-”

Pansy cleared her throat and he stopped talking almost instantly. “Look,” she began, looking back over at the table. “I’m pretty sure I fucked it all up, okay?”

Molly gasped, lifting a hand to her chest at hearing the language from the previously-sweet girl. Ron tried not to choke.

“I just. You wanted me to put a name on us, and I… I thought we could just keep doing what we were doing without ever having to call it was it was,” Pansy paused, and looked down at the ground. “What it _is_.”

Ron couldn’t help himself – he never could, with her. “What it is?” he half snapped, and Molly gasped again. “I have no _bloody clue_ what this is, Pansy, and you left before we could ever decide. You just… you built up your perfect little life and fit me into it and then, what, I wanted you to commit and that was too goddamn much for you, so you just… you just walked out on me like I meant _nothing_ to you.”

Pansy almost shuddered at his words, and _nodded_. Ron’s rage grew at the sight of her not fighting back, accepting what he was saying. He had always known how to push her buttons, how to piss her off. He had always been a child who liked to play with fire, and she had never been an exception to that rule.

“And then you… you waltz in here and pretend we’re still together, that we’re some perfect happy couple, why, Pansy? I know you’re a _Slytherin_ but this is a lot – even for a _snake_.”

That did it. Pansy snapped her head up and the fire was back in her eyes and Ron exhaled something that felt far too close to _relief_.

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” she began, lifting a finger up to poke into his chest. “I might be selfish, and I am definitely a bitch, but I have never pretended to be anything other than that. Never pretended to be _good_ at this, and you’re a bloody _fool_ and I still don’t know how you did it.”

Ron wanted to pull out his own hair – but it was such a common feeling around her and the relief at feeling it again was winning out, if only barely. “Did _what_?”

Pansy took a breath, and Ron watched as she pulled herself together, and then she dropped down to one knee in a fluid movement.

“How you made me fall in love with you,” she half-whispered, and from _somewhere_ in the sundress, pulled out a tiny box.

Ron blinked.

Molly gasped so loudly that Ron almost stopped to check if she was alright.

“I’m not good at this,” Pansy continued, looking up at him with her fire and her sharp edges and red lips. “But I never said I was. I’m still the same person, Ron, and I’m not going to pretend to be someone else for you. I… I _can_ promise to try harder, for the things that matter to you,” at this, she glanced around the room, and then back to him, “but this is who I am.”

Ron couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping as she popped open the small box in her hand to reveal a plain ring, solid and sturdy and clearly expensive, even from where he was standing.

“But,” she pressed on, locking her eyes back on his, “I am, despite _all_ of my better judgment, in love with you. And I don’t… don’t think I want to do this without you. Ever.”

The room had slowed down around them and suddenly it sped into Ron and he shook his head, parsing the meaning, matching it with the vulnerability in the shake of her hand. “Pansy are you… are you _proposing_ to me?”

Her gaze turned withering, for just a minute. “Obviously!” she snapped.

Molly burst into tears.

“I’m not going to be a Stepford wife. But, I don’t want to be a casual fling either. I just… want to be with you. Always.”

Ron couldn’t stop himself, and his knees gave as he dropped to the ground in front of her. “And you think _I’m_ the idiot?” he murmured, reaching out for her, catching her jaw in his hands and pulling their heads together, pressing their foreheads flush and taking a moment to take her in. “You stole my moment,” he added, freeing one hand to pluck the ring from the box and slide it onto his left finger. The wicked grin that kept him up at night returned to her face, and his heart _soared_.

“You might have to get used to that,” she retorted.

Ron laughed and pressed forwards, and when their lips met he knew that nothing was ever going to be easy – but he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“Well,” Molly huffed, then she cleared her throat and clapped her hands together. “I suppose we’ll have to get those gnomes in the garden sorted before the wedding!”

**Author's Note:**

> Not ENTIRELY sure when I fell down the Ronsy rabbithole, but here I am. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this rambly mess!
> 
> Much love as always to my beta nymphadoraholtzmann, without whom I would be sad and alone and much less cohesive.


End file.
